


Lost in Translation

by notebooksandlaptops



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Smut, but not too explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebooksandlaptops/pseuds/notebooksandlaptops
Summary: “Are you alright?” Jaskier asks. He’s been dragged outside again during the middle of one of his sets. That’s fine. He was almost expecting it. Geralt has become a little bit predictable, and a bad mood usually means he’ll want a quick pick me up at some point.“I will be in a moment,” Geralt growls, and he pushes Jaskier up against the wall.And it's fine. Normal. New normal. Jaskier goes and he goes happily and willingly. But there’s something that is tugging on his mind, something that aches.He doesn’t put his finger on it until afterwards. “You really will have to start being more patient. I do need to make a living – and you dragging me away in the middle of my songs all the time is bad for business.”Geralt gives a chuckle, “you’re saving money on the whorehouses, are you not?”And oh.Geralt is using him for sex.-///-Or, Jaskier and Geralt start having regular sex. Jaskier thinks it doesn't mean as much to Geralt as it does to him. He's wrong.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 181
Kudos: 2125





	Lost in Translation

“Jaskier. I need to speak to you. Alone.”

“What, _now_?”

Jaskier is quite happy to give Geralt his undivided attention, most days. In the past-- oh, God’s, how long has it been since their first meeting? Nearly six years? No, wait, seven? Well, in the past seven years, Geralt has been perhaps his only constant, coming and going from his life with the passing of seasons but seemingly always right around the proverbial corner. He's usually rather attentive to the Witcher's needs, and if Geralt wants to _talk_? That's a rarity in itself that must be taken advantage of.

It’s just that Jaskier was _singing._

No, no, scratch that, he wasn’t just singing, he was _working._

“Look, I know it’s not quite as fancy or time-consuming as your—” he waved his hand, “—witchering, but I’m earning myself _coin_ here, Geralt. I can't just stop.”

He hadn’t even finished his set yet! And the people at this, ahem, _fine establishment_ (another backwater tavern full of grumbling patrons with tightly closed purses) were proving rather hard to charm out of their coin. He’d barely made enough to cover the expenses of his share of the room at the inn.

“ _Now._ ” Geralt says, simply, and then – _Bastard_ that he is – he turns around and walks out.

And Jaskier – twenty-five and, alright, _alright_ maybe a little lovestruck – follows him. Of course he does. And Geralt _knows_ he will. It bears repeating that Geralt is _such_ a bastard sometimes.

Night has already set, and outside the tavern the village is quiet, deserted, peaceful. Jaskier takes a breath of the fresh air, revels in the sting of spring chill on his face. There’s nobody but them in the street. “Alright, what?” He asks.

Geralt turns to him, tilts his head and says nothing. The frustrating git. 

“I said what? Come on Geralt you can’t just pull me out here in the middle of a set and then _not say anything._ ”

There’s a moment where Geralt seems to be considering, his eyes travelling up and down Jaskier's form. Jaskier waits. He waits, and he waits and then—

“Hey! Geralt, you brute, what are you—”

Geralt has shoved him into the Tavern wall. Jaskier’s half expecting to see someone with a knife, or a monster, or _something_ that would merit such behaviour, because he really _doesn’t_ understand what’s going on.

Instead, Geralt’s lips slide neatly over his.

Well, that doesn’t explain what’s going on any better _at all._

But Geralt – his Geralt, his wonderful witcher, his stupid big oaf of a man – is kissing him. And Jaskier’s brain has about three seconds to catch up before it realises that he is _quite_ on board, actually, thank you very much.

“What are you—?” he’s panting from kiss bruised lips, when Geralt pulls back, but Geralt isn’t stopping the onslaught, “I mean, not that I’m complaining but— oh, by the Gods, _Geralt_ ,” he hisses, Geralt’s teeth scraping against his neck, biting marks that he _knows_ are going to be there for days.

“Shh,” Geralt murmurs into his skin, dragging them further into an alcove at the side of the tavern. The inn isn’t too far, they could probably make it back to their room and he’s about to say so when Geralt _sinks to his knees._

There is a high probability that Jaskier is dreaming. He must be. He’s dreaming. That’s what’s happening here.

Except even in his _wildest_ dreams, his most _depraved_ fantasies, he never could have properly imagined how Geralt’s fingers would feel unlacing his trousers and pulling them down, digging out his cock and putting his mouth—

_Oh, fuck._

Jaskier promptly forgets about anything that isn’t a _yes,_ or a _oh, Geralt,_ or Geralt’s _fucking mouth on him fuck yes._

-///-

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing really _changes._ They still go about their business; Geralt collects contracts, tells Jaskier to stay in the safety of wherever they're staying, Jaskier doesn’t listen and follows him anyway. Jaskier gets a few songs out of it, Geralt gets a bit more coin if Jaskier sings ‘Toss a Coin’ when he comes to collect his payment. It’s normal. Routine. They’ve been doing it for years.

What _isn’t_ normal, _or_ routine is the way that Geralt will drag Jaskier off upstairs after everything is settled and _fuck him raw_ into the mattress.

They are having _very_ regular sex.

_Very, very, regular_ sex. Jaskier blesses every deity in the land that Geralt seems to have better stamina than a properly bred racehorse.

Geralt will come up from fighting a monster, black-eyed from his potions. He’ll whisper “Jaskier, Jaskier, it’s so _much_ ,” and Jaskier knows his senses are alight, knows he needs something to focus on, so he’ll go down and press his lips to Geralt’s dick until Geralt can’t focus on anything but that.

They’ll wake up in their bedrolls and it’ll be _cold_ and Geralt will cup his face in those big hands and ask almost _politely_ (by Geralt standards at least) where the oil is (and curse if it's not close) and then he’ll fuck Jaskier deep (and Jaskier will feel it the entire day after as he tries to keep up a pace to match Roach).

Quite a few times it happens like the first; he’ll be singing, and Geralt will interrupt and stalk outside and they’ll be frantically pulling at each other against an alley wall.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until it’s the new normal. Until it’s…just what happens.

And fuck, it’s _hot._ Jaskier is used to catching people’s eyes, he’s charming, but he doesn’t think that he’s ever had anyone who wants him _this much._ Geralt seems intoxicated by him, like he can’t get enough and in turn that intoxicates Jaskier. Seven years. He spent seven years basically flat out pining after the bloke, and now he _has_ him. It’s glorious. Wonderful. Perfect.

Or—or it would be.

Except one night, he has the _worst_ revelation.

Geralt is pissed about something. He’s been pissed all day. Jaskier doesn’t know quite what set it off, but its something to do with the contract and the way that he was asked to get rid of the monster haunting the woods.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks. He’s been dragged outside again during the middle of one of his sets. That’s fine. He was almost expecting it. Geralt has become a little bit predictable, and a bad mood usually means he’ll want a quick pick me up at some point.

“I will be in a moment,” Geralt growls, and he pushes Jaskier up against the wall.

And it's fine. Normal. New normal. Jaskier goes and he goes happily and willingly. But there’s something that is tugging on his mind, something that aches.

He doesn’t put his finger on it until afterwards. “You really will have to start being more patient. I do need to make a living – and you dragging me away in the middle of my songs all the time is bad for business.”

Geralt gives a chuckle, “you’re saving money on the whorehouses, are you not?”

And oh.

_Oh._

Something nasty curls in his stomach.

Geralt is _using him for sex._

-///-

It’s fine.

It’s the new normal.

(It’s not fine. It’s torture. It’s not normal. It’s a glimpse of paradise without getting to stay).

Now he knows what Geralt is doing—well. It should have been obvious. Because nothing has changed. They sleep together. Geralt doesn’t even talk about it. There were no grand declarations of love at the beginning. Geralt probably just smelt (because honestly, he’s like a fucking _dog_ with the way he can smell things on people) Jaskier getting aroused around him at some point and decided to do something about it because he could.

Geralt’s not being cruel, of course. It’s not that. He probably doesn’t even know that Jaskier’s head over heels for him. He’s just…it’s just convenient. Sex with Jaskier is a convenience. 

And Jaskier thinks that it’s fine. It will be fine. Because getting to touch Geralt, to have him in as many ways as he’s allowed…that’s better than not having him at all, isn’t it?

Yet he can't help but begin to notice a few other things, in the meantime.

They’ll lie in bed and Jaskier will say that Geralt is beautiful and Geralt will shut him up with a kiss.

They’ll be under the stars and Jaskier will be teasing Geralt about how he’s _soft_ and _good_ and Geralt will distract him with a blow job.

They’ll be in a tavern and Jaskier will be telling people how truly _amazing_ Geralt is, and he’ll be pulled outside and have Geralt’s hand around his cock.

They'll be laying after sex and Jaskier will try and start up a conversation and Geralt will bury his head into Jaskier's neck and not even respond in grunts. 

Geralt _distracts him._ Geralt—well, for whatever reason, it seems like Geralt thinks that he can shut Jaskier up with sex. Clearly—all of that stuff makes him uncomfortable now. He doesn’t want to tip Jaskier over the edge into having feelings for him or something.

Which would be great. Fine. Except for the fact that Jaskier has had feelings for fucking _years._ Long before their first little escapade against a tavern wall.

And he thinks he can handle it. Except it’s an odd sort of heartbreak. For a while, he gets a few songs about it, songs about a lover like smoke, who disappears as soon as she takes what she wants. But it’s—well. It’s _worse_ than before, actually. It’s worse because its _having_ Geralt and _not_ having him all at once. It _aches._ It _hurts._

It’s too much for not enough.

It’s becoming…it’s becoming a problem.

-///-

But it’s difficult. It’s so, so difficult to stop the pattern.

For one thing, when he does, it’s going to be fucking humiliating if Geralt asks _why_.

So he lets it go on. He lets it go on for six long months until the air is turning crisp with autumn, leaves falling from the trees and making the ground soggy and damp beneath their bedrolls.

Funnily enough, it’s not _actually_ the sex that does it, that makes Jaskier realise he has to end this. He breaks instead at something far more mundane. Far _softer._

They’re in yet another backwater village because they’ve heard tell of a contract and strange deaths. It takes them a while to track down the person who’s willing to pay.

And it’s not a mayor. It's not some town matriarch or patriarch. Oh no.

It’s a boy.

He’s barely fifteen. He invites them into the small hovel of his house. It’s a messy place, the kind of messy a place gets when one simply doesn’t have the time to sort things out properly. There is dirty crockery that has not been washed and clothes piling up in the corner that needs to be taken down to the river for a soak.

But worse than that is the little girl by the fire, who has tears in her eyes and says nothing. She can’t be more than five.

And the baby in the boy’s arms, who can’t be much more than a year old, the baby he rarely puts down.

The boy explains how the monster got his parents, and how the mayor refuses to do anything because the monster only attacks near the woodland on the outskirts of town, where the poorest peasants live. He explains how he doesn’t have much money, but he can give what he can and maybe the Witcher could come back for another payment when he has things in order?

Geralt takes the contract.

When he comes back, he doesn’t charge any money for it.

Instead, he leaves the boy with most of the food rations they have and a small lump sum of coin hidden away within it so the boy can’t say no to the charity.

When he goes to leave, the little girl moves to hug Geralt. And Geralt of Rivia – who is usually oh so stoic – wraps his arms around her back and squeezes. Jaskier hears him tell her that it will be alright, and to listen to her brother.

And Jaskier’s heart is _full._

This is the man that he fell in love with. This is the man who he has followed around for so many years. It isn’t the Witcher, it isn’t the legends, it isn’t even really for the song material anymore. It is for this. It is for the softness that is buried deep inside Geralt. It is for the way that he _cares._

Jaskier can’t keep on having only half of him. He needs—lords above, he’s desperate for boundaries. Because otherwise he’s going to just keep aching and he’s not sure if his heart can take it. He's only human, after all. 

They’re setting up camp for the night when he feels arms wrap around him from behind, Geralt’s lips pressing open-mouthed lazy kisses onto his neck.

And he wants to—

He wants to let it happen. He does. It would be so easy to just melt into it.

But he thinks of Geralt’s kindness and how much he loves him and how every time he skirts the line too close to his feelings Geralt tries to pull his mind away with sex and he just _can’t do it anymore._

“Geralt, stop,” he whispers.

Geralt does. Straight away. Without question. Another reason Jaskier cares so much about him. And maybe that means they'll be okay, if Geralt stops here. Maybe Geralt will respect his boundaries and things can go back to how they were. 

He turns to face him but finds that when he does he can’t actually meet his gaze. No. Things won't go back. Not now that he knows the sweetness of that mouth on his cock or the way Geralt sounds when he loses himself to the pleasure of climax. He keeps his eyes dropped to the wet leaves on the floor. “I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers. The words taste horrid in his mouth.

Geralt is silent. Jaskier is a coward; he can’t even look up to face his expression.

“I’m trying. I’m _trying,_ Geralt. But I just…I can’t.”

He shifts, awkward. It’s never awkward with Geralt. And now he’s gone and _made it_ awkward. Well, at least it’s almost winter. He couldn’t have picked a better time to do this. Geralt will be off to Kaer Morhen soon, and Jaskier will go to Oxenfurt or set up in some noble court and they won’t see each other until spring. Maybe that’ll be enough, to let the awkwardness between them stop.

“I don’t understand,” Geralt says, slowly, flat, like they’re talking about the weather and not the sexual relationship they’ve been engaging in for the past few months.

“Oh, gods, Geralt, are you really going to make me say it?” Jaskier pales. This is going to be _horrid._ Maybe they should have had this conversation in the morning so that Jaskier could head off straight away in a different direction.

“I thought that we were…happy.” Geralt says, and he’s still speaking in that monotone, closed off the way he is with so many people but never with Jaskier. Never with Jaskier until now.

“Oh, Geralt,” He ran a hand through his hair, “I get it. I do. It’s a good arrangement. We have sex, we’re both willing, neither of us has to pay for whores or whatever else. It’s good. Only, see I’m—well. I know you’ve been trying to distract me from it every time I skirt too close to talking about my _feelings_ but it doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working. Because I’m, well. I do have feelings,” he laughed, but it wasn’t happy. It was ugly, self-deprecating, bitter. “I’m in love with you, actually. Have been for years. And this—this having you but not having you is…it’s too much.”

There’s quiet. Jaskier is acutely aware of the way the wind rustles the trees, the way the fire is crackling at his feet.

Gods above, maybe Geralt _won’t_ come back in the spring. Maybe he’ll leave Jaskier all alone. Maybe this will be the last night they ever spend with each other.

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt says, stepping forward, and there’s something in his voice Jaskier can’t decipher but he _really_ hopes it’s not pity. He doesn't know if he can deal with pity on top of everything else.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it, alright? I still want to be your friend. I just need some, ah, some boundaries.”

“Jaskier, please,” and oh, Geralt _never_ says please, “Please look at me?”

And Because Jaskier is so fucking _gone_ he can’t help himself but do so. Even if it'll hurt.

And there is Geralt, beautiful, wonderful Geralt. And he’s looking at Jaskier like—well, like Jaskier has just informed him that he’s going to be cutting off Geralt’s arm. He looks devistated. There's a pinched expression to his face, and his lips are curled downwards.

Wait—what?

“Geralt—”

“Jaskier. I think you…have the wrong impression,” Geralt shifts, “I haven’t been intending to use you as a free whore.”

“No, no, of course not, I know, you respect me, it’s not—”

“ _No._ ” Geralt growls, cutting him off and Jaskier’s lips snap shut. “No, Jaskier. I haven’t been _using_ you as anything. I thought—I thought you knew that—fuck. I’ve never fucking done this before and it’s…It is easier to express my emotions physically.”

“Uh…right?” Jaskier doesn’t actually understand what Geralt is saying. Is he just enjoying dragging out Jaskier’s humiliation?

Geralt looks oddly frustrated. He growls, shifts closer. Jaskier should push him away, but Geralt looks so determined and Jaskier is only human, he only has so much willpower left in him. “When I do this,” and he leans in, just so, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s just the once. “I am saying that you are important to me.” He shifts again, and Jaskier is…a bit lost? What? But Geralt is ducking his head and placing it against Jaskier’s neck, the way he does after sex, “when I do this, it means I am glad you are close,” he pushes Jaskier lightly back against the tree he’s standing so close to, “when I do this, it’s because I think you’re beautiful when you sing,” he runs fingers up Jaskier’s side, “when I do this, it means that I…reciprocate your feelings.”

It takes a minute. A moment. And then—

And then it clicks.

“ _Oh,_ ” he whispers.

_Oh._

Geralt hasn’t _done this before._

Geralt isn’t trying to shut him up when he gets too close to feelings.

He’s trying to reciprocate.

He’s speaking a secret language, and now—now he’s translating.

The past six months of memories right themselves, coming into context like hearing the lyrics that fit with the tune of a song. And these lyrics aren’t sad, they’re not heartbroken, they’re not mournful. This isn’t a tale of woe. It’s a romance. It’s a love song.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt apologises, “I thought that that was clear. I understand if you would rather we end this.”

“What? _No,_ ” And it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused now, looping his hands around Geralt’s neck so he can’t go anyway. Because _no._ They’ve just come to the best possible realisation. He is _not_ going to lose Geralt now. “Nope. No. Sorry. I’m non-refundable. You’ve got me now, Witcher. And now I know your meaning, I don’t plan on letting you go.”

He leans forward, presses his lips to Geralt’s forehead. “Maybe you could teach me what you mean when you do some _other_ things?” He asks.

And Geralt smiles that soft smile that is just for him and sets to work on translating.

-///-

“It’s a shame,” Jaskier says, later that night. He’s tired – Geralt showed him _all_ his meanings, and it took an awfully long time and was _so fucking amazing._ But it’s a good kind of tired. He’s got his head on Geralt’s bare chest, letting his hands trace over the other’s scars. “That we’ve actually come to understand each other just when you’re about to leave.”

“Hm?” Geralt has his hand in Jaskier’s hair, softly running through the strands there.

“It’s almost winter. You’ll be heading to Kaer Morhen. I’ve learnt a whole new language, tonight, and I won’t get to speak it much until spring.” He shifts upwards, so he can actually see Geralt’s face, elbow resting on his chest. “I’ll miss you. I always miss you. But I’ll miss you this time even more.”

Geralt watches him, then shakes his head slowly, “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to come.”

Wait—what?

He knows of Kaer Morhen and it’s legends, it’s myths. He knows of the Wolf School of Witchers. And he knows that no human is allowed to step foot in there. Other than the ones who destroyed it, he’s not sure any ever have.

“I would like you to meet my brothers,” Geralt says slowly, “and Vesemir.” A pause, “Although, it would be lonely, and rather cold. I imagine you’d prefer the comforts of court. Forget it.”

Jaskier had taken too long to answer, clearly.

He leans in, presses his lips to Geralt’s, “No. I don’t want the comforts of court this winter. Kaer Morhen sounds…perfect.” A soft smile, “I love you.”

Geralt runs his fingers down Jaskier’s side slowly, pulls him back in for a kiss. _Your feelings are reciprocated. You’re important to me._

Jaskier doesn’t need to hear it. Now he knows. He knows what Geralt is saying. What he means.

Geralt kisses him, touches him, has sex with him. And all of it means _I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up and immediately wrote this all in one sitting because I had a sudden intense inspiration. This is one of my fav misunderstanding tropes and I haven't seen a lot of them for this fandom yet, so I thought I'd contribute. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr and send a prompt if you'd like! [@Jaskier-wearing-dresses](https://jaskier-wearing-dresses.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Toss a comment and a kudos to your tired fanfic writer?


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